


Im Not So Good At Words (Maybe I Can Show You)

by DracoWinchester7237



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Bellamy just wants to help, Dyslexia, M/M, Past Violence, Self-Esteem Issues, Social Anxiety, Trust Issues, i mean eventually something happy should happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 11:54:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16218518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoWinchester7237/pseuds/DracoWinchester7237
Summary: Murphy has completely given up and Bellamy tries to help him out but in doing this Bellamy discovers a lot more sides to the boy who he used to be best friends with. Murphy just wants Bellamy to leave him alone so he can get on with pretending he doesn't exist.or a fic i started approximately three hours ago for Dyslexia Awareness Day sooooo go easy on me.





	Im Not So Good At Words (Maybe I Can Show You)

**Author's Note:**

> here's a thing I did. A thing that turned out to be 1000% more personal than it was supposed to be. 
> 
> (also im just gunna go ahead and put a warning here and say there's mentions of abusive and something that might look like it could be referencing self-harm and these are themes that will likely carry through the whole fic.)

Murphy wanted to be anywhere but here sitting in the school's empty library, empty because school was over, and had been for almost an hour. And Bellamy Blake was pacing in front of him and running his hands through his hair and Murphy was pretending not to watch. 

 

“So you didn't do any research, or start on your half of the report, or work on the presentation at all,” Bellamy said like they hadn't been over this at least half a dozen times by now. Murphy stared down at his phone, which was on but he wasn't actually doing anything on it, and his music wasn't actually playing through the earbuds but it gave him something to look at. “Honestly John,” Murphy flinched at the use of his first name but Bellamy was too busy pacing and lecturing to notice. “It’s been two weeks. We only have a few days left on this, are you at least planning on doing your part?” Murphy did not look at Bellamy. “If you don't help me with this we’re going to fail the project that's worth like half of the semester grade, do you get that?” Murphy painted a sneer on his face. “Is all of this some sort of joke to you?” Murphy looked up then. 

 

“Actually, yes as a matter of fact it is. Now if you'll excuse me I have somewhere to be.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and stalked out of the library, turning his music on and up as loud as it would go and so what if he was ruining his hearing. The rest of him was sure fucked up enough he didn't think it really mattered anymore. 

 

If anything Bellamy was being more than a little overdramatic. It's not like the teacher would punish Bellamy for his lack of work although he was starting to think he’d been partnered up with Bellamy as a form of punishment akin to torture. 

 

His music effectively swallowed the noise around him, surrounding him in an isolating bubble. This was his preferred way to travel through the halls of this hell school. Drown out all the noise that made him feel so much like he was suffocating. And it worked because nobody messed with him. The rumor of where he'd been for the past two years had at least kept the assholes at an arm's length. So to say he was surprised to feel someone grab his shoulder was an understatement. 

 

He flat out panicked, yanked away from the uninvited touch and started swinging without thinking. 

 

The second thoughts came when his fist made contact with someone's nose, and they screamed that he had just fucked everything up. He stood there long enough to see Bellamy stagger backward and then he turned and ran and he didn't stop until he slammed his front door behind him, panting. 

 

His mom wasn't home yet and that was probably the best part of his day. 

 

Murphy trudged up the stairs and fell straight into his bed. He wasn't going to Juvie again. Not now, not ever and definitely not over someone like Bellamy Blake.  He’d talk to him tomorrow, if it wasn't already too late, grovel at his feet if he had to. He wasn’t going to juvie again. He couldn't. He was more angry than surprised to find tears in his eyes. 

 

He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until the doorbell scared him awake. At first, he thought he'd made the noise up. He felt disgusting having fallen asleep sweaty and in a mess of his own tears. He barely had time to stand up when he heard the noise again. 

 

“Who the fuck are you?” Murphy heard his mom spitting at whatever poor soul had thought ringing there bell was a good idea. He closed his eyes and tried to get his breathing under control when he heard another voice. 

 

“Uh, I'm a friend of John’s”  _ Fuck,  _ Murphy thought running out of the door and practically throwing himself down the stairs. 

 

“Murphy!” his mom yelled when he made it to the bottom of the stairs. He didn't say anything. “Murphy!” she screamed again and he ran for the back door not caring that it slammed behind him. Not caring if she heard it. 

 

He was always thankful of the trees that almost circled his house. They made up enough cover he could easily hide when he needed to. He made his way around the house, staying out of sight from any windows. He was close enough to hear his mom cursing, close enough to see her slam the door in Bellamy's face. Close enough to run the few feet between him and the porch to grab Bellamy's wrist and pull him away from the house. Away from any windows, away from his mother. Away away away. 

 

“Hey.” he started and Murphy knew he must be confused but he didn't say anything. He needed to put as much distance between him that house as he could. 

 

His mom did not like people showing up. Especially, people, Murphy knew, especially  _ boys  _ Murphy knew. The wind blew and he wished he had at least had the forethought to grab a jacket. But even the cold of November was preferable to the questions and breath that stank of alcohol and being used as target practice for empty bottles. 

 

“John?” and Murphy had forgotten Bellamy behind him. Forgotten he was still holding Bellamy's wrist. Forgotten he was still dragging him along behind him pulling him away from the house and away from his mother and away from what passed at Murphy's life and just away away away. 

 

Murphy let go of Bellamy. “Sorry.” he kept walking and he did not look back at Bellamy, definitely did not look back at Bellamy, didn't even slow down. Didn't care at this point if he was following him or not. 

 

“John?” Bellamy asked again and he flinched because he hated that name and he hated that Bellamy knew it and he hated that Bellamy thought he even had the right to use it. But that didn't matter at the moment because Murphy wasn’t going back to Juvie. 

 

“Did you tell anybody?” Murphy asked stopping suddenly and turning in Bellamy's direction but decidedly not looking at him. 

 

“Tell anybody?” Bellamy repeated.

 

“That I hit you, Dumbass. Are you going to tell anybody that I hit you.” and Murphy had to remind himself that he was supposed to be groveling and not making the situation worse. 

 

“No I haven't yet, but what was all that about,” Bellamy asked pointing over his shoulder like Murphy had no idea what Bellamy could possibly be talking about. 

 

“Don't worry about it Blake.” and Murphy kept walking because right now it was all he could do to get some semblance of warmth. 

 

“Well I am worried about it, about you,” and Murphy wanted to laugh because wasn't that the biggest lie ever told. 

 

“You don't have to pretend Bellamy.” 

 

“I'm not, I wasn’t, damn it, John, could you just stop walking for a second and look at me,” and that was just about the worst idea in the world. But he stopped walking. And oh he hated that he stopped walking. “John I'm not pretending,” he said and there it was written across Bellamy's face, pity, and it made Murphy's skin crawl. 

 

“I'm assuming you didn't come over to my house uninvited to talk about my mom,” Murphy said through his teeth. 

 

“John just tell me what's going on.” 

 

Murphy felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. “Stop fucking calling me John. You don’t get to call me John. you don’t get to randomly stumble across my tragedy of a life and decide it's up to you to fix it. Just. just go home, Bellamy. Tell Mrs. Griffin that the screwed up kid from Juive punched you and I'm sure you won't have to see me anymore which is good news for your project maybe your next partner will actually know how to read and make life a little easier on you.” 

 

Bellamy stood there staring at him with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide and Murphy thought he looked a bit like a fish standing there gawking at him like that. Murphy wasn't to keen on waiting around for Bellamy to snap back into reality so he continued his walk. Because he was angry and he was cold and he was almost certain that he wanted to punch Bellamy in his stupid fish like face. 

 

“Murphy wait,” He didn’t, and he really wished Bellamy could learn to take a hint because now he was jogging to catch up to him and Murphy wanted to crawl out of his skin and hide under a rock. “I thought Juvie was a rumor, why, why didn't you tell me?” 

 

“Why would I? I don't know if you’ve noticed but we’re not exactly friends Bell.” the old nickname slipped out before he could catch himself but if Bellamy noticed he didn't say anything. 

 

“I think we're friends, ” Bellamy said and Murphy snorted 

 

“Then you're more naive than you look.” He paused, looking down at his shoes. They were black and faded and falling apart and they weren't even his. They were hand-me-downs from Bellamy so many years ago Murphy thinks he's lost track. He wondered for a moment if Bellamy remembered them. If he remembered when they wrote their initials along the used-to-be-white rubber edge of the now worn out converse. “We stopped being friends when you stood there and let the entire football team kick the shit out of me and left me under the bleachers with three broken ribs.” Bellamy at least had the sense to look guilty. 

 

The silence that fell between them then was the kind that had physical weight to it the kind that pressed down on his shoulders and chest. The kind of silence that pulsated between them with every breath they took. It was enough to make Murphy want to scream or rip his hair out or claw at the skin on his arm just to have something happen. 

 

It was the kind of silence that rippled every time Murphy saw Bellamy open his mouth as if to say something. As if to say sorry. As if sorry could ever fix what was broken between them. As if sorry could give him back the years he spent in Juvie being everybody else's punching bag. As if sorry could ever be more than an overused word. At least Bellamy seemed to understand this, as much as the silence was suffocating, hearing Bellamy attempt to apologize would make him implode.

 

“You said,” Bellamy started, hesitating and chewing his bottom lip, which Murphy knew he was doing because that's what Bellamy always did when he didn't know what to say. “You said ‘maybe your next partner will know how to read.” Of all the things Bellamy could have held onto why did it have to be that bit of information? “Murphy, do you struggle with reading?”  Bellamy’s whisper was almost lost in the wind. 

 

“No, I don’t struggle with it,” Murphy said and he didn't remember when they had stopped walking. Murphy didn't look at Bellamy. He absolutely did not look at Bellamy because his cheeks were growing hotter and his throat was tight and if he looked at Bellamy now he'd break. And no way was Murphy going to cry in front of Bellamy Blake. 

 

“Murphy,” and who the _fuck_ did Bellamy think he was turning his entire life upside down in one afternoon this way. Because that's what he was doing, showing up at his house and following him for so long. And Murphy didn't even know how long they were walking or why Bellamy hadn't left yet and he didn't know if he was mad at Bellamy for staying or mad that sooner or later he would have to leave he was just mad. And his face was hot and red and his neck burned and the way Bellamy said his name was just plain unfair and Murphy could  _ feel  _ Bellamy looking at him, waiting for an answer. 

 

“I don’t struggle with reading,” Murphy said again slower, breathing through his nose. “I can't read.” He said “I mean I can but I can't and it's frustrating and embarrassing and it's so much easier to just not even try. It's so much better not to try because at least then when I fail I did it on purpose. And it's not like any teacher has ever reached out to help and it's not like I have help at home. And even when I ask for help all they see when they look at me is a big red stamp across my forehead that says Juvie. Nevermind that I didn't fucking do what everyone accuses me of. And it's just” Murphy closed his eyes. “It's just so much easier to not try at all Bell.” and Murphy knew he was oversharing but like a switch had been flipped he couldn't stop and his eyes were burning from the effort not to cry and his face was hot and his neck was hot and he wanted to claw away the skin that burned in embarrassment and he did not look at Bellamy. 

 

“Murphy, maybe I can help.” and his voice was still soft and Murphy did not look at Bellamy. 

 

“I don't want your help. I don’t need your help,” he said and pretended that his voice wasn't shaking and if it was it was because of the cold and not because of anything else. “Go home, Blake.” And he did not look at Bellamy standing there probably biting his lip. 

 

“I brought you your backpack,” Bellamy said placing the bag at Murphy's feet. Murphy didn’t know how he didn’t notice that Bellamy had it. That must have been why Bellamy was at his house in the first place but Murphy couldn't open his mouth to ask. And he couldn't look up from where his backpack was sitting on the concrete at his feet. 

 

Murphy felt Bellamy leave. It was like the small amount of warmth left in him was drained away. Still, he did not look at Bellamy walking away.       


End file.
